


Coming Home

by firefly734



Series: Dunkirk Verse [2]
Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Alex isn't a huge jerk, Anal Sex, Drunk Sex, Gibson's Real Name Is Philippe Hugo Guillet, M/M, Oral Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:47:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26379052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefly734/pseuds/firefly734
Summary: A brief interlude in the middle of the war. Tommy, Alex and Philippe get a few weeks break, and wait to hear when they're going to be deployed again.Tommy and Philippe's relationship grows.
Relationships: Alex & Tommy (Dunkirk), Gibson & Tommy (Dunkirk), Gibson/Tommy (Dunkirk)
Series: Dunkirk Verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1917082
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhhhh! Still just really loving these boys rn, and enjoying writing them.  
> Nothing too heavy in this fic as I'm planning it, should just be a couple of nice weeks for them, the eye of the storm.  
> Thanks for reading!

When Tommy woke he was warm, which was unusual. He allowed himself just a moment to relax into it, letting the world filter into him by bits without opening his eyes. It felt like the train was slowing, maybe that was what had woken him. His neck was propped in an awkward position, his head was pressed against something warm and firm, and he was curled half sideways in his seat, hip pressing into the hard plastic of the bench. 

He wanted to linger in this moment, he knew the shoulder that he was pressed on was Philippe's, but figured he'd been there all night and could steal a few more seconds. Just as he had finished his first coherent thought of the day Alex's voice pulled him out of it, brought him fully to the present. 

“Hey, bring me one of those papers!” 

Figuring sleep was finally lost to him, Tommy opened his eyes, squinting at the bright light coming in from the window to his right, vaguely surprised he'd managed to sleep so late for the sun to be this high in the sky. He straightened himself out, saw that though Alex was awake and hanging out the window the majority of the other soldiers were still slumped in their seats, asleep. Tommy was also relieved to see he was not the only man who'd been leaning on a friend, battle-tired as they were the men had fallen to sleep slumped all over one another in the train.

He felt Philippe stirring next to him, watched him as he blinked his eyes open, flitting about car for a bit until they landed on Tommy, and a shy smile spread on his face.  
_Oh no._ Tommy thought. _He's fucking gorgeous._

Alex saved him from his suffering this time, tossing the newspaper down to him and telling him to read it. 

So Tommy read. He read the way those harrowing days at Dunkirk, hiding in the dunes and scrounging for water, had been spun to be a military victory, a “disaster turned triumph”. Casting his eyes about the train he saw nothing victorious about them, still most men were sleeping, stooped with exhaustion, grime and oil clinging to their skin and clothing. 

Apparently the civilians had bought into this tale, eager to see their young heroes come home. The next station was a flurry of activity, folks had lined up on the platform to cheer the train as it pulled through, shoving bread and beer in through the small windows. Anyone who'd been sleeping was now awake for better or for worse. Most men cheered at the sight of smiling British faces, perked up for beer for breakfast. But still some drew further into themselves, shrinking away from the noise of the platform, huddling smaller under their thin wool blankets.

Alex was up there with the best of them, sullen mood from the night before mostly passed, flashing as charming a smile as he could manage at any of the young ladies on the platform, snatching up treats to pass back to the men squeezing in around him. 

Tommy knew this was only going to be a brief respite, soon they'd all be split up again, probably released on the continent if Churchill's speech was to be believed. He pressed himself out of his seat and next to Alex at the window and called down to the crowd.

“Hey! Anybody got a pen? A pencil? Anything?” A couple of men patted down their breast pockets, and one came up with a pencil, passing it into Tommy's hand.

“Thanks!”

He ducked back down into his seat, and ripped a square off of the bottom corner of the newspaper, and scribbled down his information on it and pressed it to Philippe. 

“Write, please.” 

The other man nodded.

Tommy ripped another square of paper and repeated the action, saving it to hand to Alex once he tore himself away from the crowd. When he was done Philippe pulled the paper over to himself, and wrote his own information, in much neater script than Tommy's, and handed it over to him. Tommy folded the square and slid it into his breast pocket.

By the time they pulled out of the station the train car was abuzz, newspapers having been passed out and men happily guzzling their beers, extras stashed in seat pockets or between their feet for safekeeping if they'd been lucky enough to snag any. Alex broke away from the festivities once they were firmly out of the station, and he dropped back into his seat across from where Tommy and Gibson hadn't really moved, but they'd been passed beers of their own that they were sipping.

They looked at Alex expectantly as he leaned over the rickety card table separating them. 

“So what are we gonna do about our pal here?” He looked at Philippe expectantly. 

“What do you mean do? They'll drop us off at some tent city somewhere and we'll be carted off to our own divisions, the French were getting evacuated too.”

“Yeah but most of the frogs aren't gonna be wearing British fatigues and British dog tags.”

Tommy cast an appraising eye over Philippe along with Alex.

“Alright the dog tags are a bad look.” He reached over to tap where they were hanging around Philippe's neck. “Give me.”

Philippe nodded, removing the chain from around his neck and pressing them into Tommy's hand.

“Alright that's a first step.” Alex reached across the table and plucked them out of Tommy's hand, and without fanfare rose out of his seat to drop them out of the moving window of the train. He plopped back into his seat, and tilted his beer in a sardonic toast. “To Gibson then, eh?” 

Tommy and Philippe also inclined their beers, echoing the sentiment.

“Those fatigues still aren't French issue though.” He pursed his lips for a moment. “I guess just lose the jacket, the trousers are close enough.” 

Philippe looked confused, he obviously hadn't caught the whole conversation.

“Jacket. Off.”

With a slight nod, Philippe shrugged out of the jacket. He balled it up and with an affected air of nonchalance and shoved it under the bench beneath him.

“Goodbye Gibson, hello Philippe.” Tommy couldn't say for sure, but he thought Philippe looked a little lighter, no longer dragged down by the dead man's name.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It still took a couple hours to make it to their destination, the slow pace of the train made slower at every station they pulled through: stopping for fanfare, more treats being shoved through the window.

Embarrassingly, Tommy was half drunk by the time the train pulled to a true stop. It was the first alcohol he'd had in months, and even before that he'd never been much of a drinker. He lived with his aunt and it would have been rude to drink in front of her, even if it weren't going to break her heart, and on top of that he and his mates never seemed to have had much cash for booze.

The alcohol made him feel light and fuzzy, still alert, not hazy or wobbly- just filled with an extremely pleasant feeling all through his arms and legs.

He'd actually gotten the chance to kick off his wet boots and socks the night before, for the first time in nearly a week. His socks had mostly dried out but his boots were still damp. As they pulled into the final station and the call to disembark came he reluctantly pulled his grimy socks on, hissing a bit of air through his teeth as they pressed against blisters sunken into his flesh by water and time. The boots went on easier after that.

When he was all sorted out he looked up to see Philippe and Alex both grinning down at him. 

“What?” 

“Took you a minute to get sorted mate, wouldn't have taken you as a light weight.”

Tommy's cheeks were already warm from the beer, and he felt them get warmer. “Oh fuck off.”

As they joined the snaking line of troops getting off the train they were handed post cards to send home, to let their loved ones know that they'd made it off the beaches. They were directed to their tents, assigned in groups of four by the order they got off the train. Philippe stood somewhat awkwardly next to them as they received their assignment.

“Je suis francais.” He told the woman jotting down their information.

She looked surprised, and hesitated for a moment. “There's no plan for the French yet, best just go find your tent, nobody's getting sorted out for a few days yet, new troops coming in every day.” She looked at Alex and Tommy now. “Did he understand any of that?” 

They nodded, “Enough, ma'am.” 

They were handed clean clothing and told to drop off their dirty wash at a collection point once they'd changed. Together with the fourth soldier placed with them, a young British private named Sean, they made their way towards their tent.

“How'd you fall in with the frog then?” Sean asked.

Tommy tried not to bristle at the questioning but it was Alex who spoke up. “He saved our arses about a dozen times combined on the beach I'd reckon.”

“Fucking cowards they are, bet he snuck on a British ship.” He spat on the ground as they walked.

Now it was Tommy who spun on him. “How 'bout you don't talk about what you don't fucking know, alright mate?” Alex and Philippe were tense behind him, and Sean visibly sized him up, eyes flicking to the men flanking him and obviously decided it wasn't worth it.

“Ah what do I care if you're chummy with a frog.” And fell back into step with them. They walked in tense silence the rest of the way to their tent. Once they reached their destination, pulling aside the canvas flap of the door Sean merely tossed his post card and canteen down on a cot, “I'm gonna wash.” and made his way out of the tent. 

The rest of them also claimed bunks, Alex taking the one over Sean's and Philippe and Tommy taking the other two. They had no possessions to speak of, none of the three of them had even managed to hold onto a pack.

“I think that blighter had the right idea.” Alex made to leave, pausing at the door and casting a stern gaze over his friends, “Don't be stupid.”, and with that he left them alone in the tent.

They waited a breath or two for his steps to fade, for the flap of the tent to settle back into place where he'd dropped it. The moment stretched thin and shattered, and they were on each other in an instant. 

Before he knew it Tommy was shoved down onto his bunk, Philippe kissing down his neck to his collar bone, yanking at his shirt to pull it up out of his trousers, worming a warm hand against the cool flesh of Tommy's side, drawing it up over his ribs to press circles into his nipple with is thumb. He arched into the other man's hand with a gasp. He still felt warm from the beer he'd had for breakfast, and now his head was spinning from the contact and the smell of Philippe around him, warm and musky.

Philippe was grappling with Tommy's belt two handed, keeping himself balanced on his knees, one elbow braced next to Tommy's hip, head braced on his sternum to see what he was doing. He got his belt undone and in seconds the button to Tommy's trousers followed, and Philippe worked his hand under the waistband of his trousers, rubbing the heel of his palm against Tommy's cock, already hard and wanting. 

“Ahh- ah- wait!” Tommy managed to gasp, though his hips didn't get the memo, still grinding up into Philippe's palm. Philippe stilled against him, propped himself up on one arm so he could see Tommy's face. “I've never- uh.” Tommy swallowed, mortified. “I mean, only with a girl, once.” 

Philippe seemed to understand, and he leaned down to kiss Tommy again, open mouthed and gentle, then nuzzled behind his ear. 

“C'est okay.” A little joke between them, something they'd both always understand. “Is not so different.” And with that he worked his hand into Tommy's pants, gripping loosely around his length, mouthing at the sensitive skin behind his ear as he shuddered. 

Before Tommy knew what he was doing, Philippe had slithered his way to the floor at the side of the cot, and he hooked his arms under Tommy's knees and hauled him to the edge of the bed. “So handsome”, the Frenchman said from where he was kneeled between Tommy's sprawled legs, the younger man awkwardly propped up on his elbows, hair in absolute disarray. 

Then, Tommy realized what was happening and the moisture left his mouth in an instant. “You don't have to...” Philippe flashed him a wink and Tommy could swear his heart stopped, he was a fucking goner. Then the soft wet heat of Philippe's mouth encompassed the head of his cock, and Tommy had to bring a fist up to his mouth to bite on, his other hand clenching in the sheets next to him in an effort to keep himself from toppling backwards. 

Philippe's own legs were spread wide, and he was propped up on his knees and the balls of his feet. His left hand dragged from where it had been cupping the curve of Tommy's side, and his right undid his own belt buckle, easier on himself than on another person. With a jolt Tommy realized that the other man was touching himself as he sucked him off, and despite his best efforts he let out a whimper from where his teeth were pressing into the meatiest part of his thumb.

At the noise Philippe's eyes snapped up to meet his, hooded and lusty. His cheeks were hollowed and he could see the Frenchman's shoulder jerking as he worked himself between Tommy's legs. Tommy propped himself up a bit more firmly, and pulled his hand away from his face, grinding his teeth together to keep himself silent, breathing hard through his nose. 

He reached out his hand and placed it on Philippe's face, and the other man leaned into it even as he continued sucking Tommy's cock. With a sort of awed fascination Tommy slid his thumb to where Philippe's lips were moving around him. It only took a slight bit of pressure to get Philippe to open his mouth wider, and he slid his thumb through the taut pull of his lips.

It was so much. He could feel Philippe as he stopped bobbing his head, as his eyes came up to meet his. Eye contact unbreaking Philippe flicked his tongue out against Tommy's thumb where it was pressed against his cock, and he could feel the firm press of the hot muscle as it laved at the spot where they met. If they'd been anywhere else, had any more privacy, Tommy would have let a moan bubble out, but as it was he kept it trapped in his chest as his abs burned from the strain of holding himself propped upright.

He drew his thumb out of Philippe's mouth and stroked it across his cheek, smearing saliva on the sharp ridge of his cheekbone, somehow making him look even more debauched. Philippe removed his hand from where it had been curled around the base of Tommy's cock and gripped his wrist, pulling his hand away from his cheek to rest in his hair. 

Tommy curled his fingers into Philippe's thick hair as the hand that had guided his own dropped down to brace on the edge of the cot, and he began bobbing his head in earnest. There was no way he was going to last like this, Tommy clenched his hand tighter in Philippe's hair, drawing a groan out of the other man's throat. It was that groan that did him in, he could feel it as it bubbled out of the other man's throat and around his cock.

“Shit.” Just one choked off word of warning and he was coming into the other man's mouth, Philippe slowing to a stop around him and letting his cock pulse against his tongue, still working himself with his own hand. 

He only let himself catch his breath for a moment before his pulled himself out of Philippe's mouth and let himself slide gracelessly to the floor between Philippe's legs, his own thighs quivering at having to support him so soon after his orgasm. Tommy pressed his mouth, open and wanting against Philippe's and could taste the sharp bitter tang of his own spend on the other man's tongue. He wormed his hand between them, awkward fingers feeling their way where they needed to go, and wrapped his hand around Philippe's cock, jerking him off in tandem with his own hand. 

He swallowed the short gasping breaths Philippe let out, and it took no time at all for the other man to shudder apart against him, drawing taut then slumping to press his forehead into the crook of Tommy's neck, murmuring French sweet nothings into his ear.

As they kneeled their on the floor, Philippe's cum splashed across both of their fingers, Tommy felt a laugh bubble up unbidden out of his chest. Before hey knew it they were both in stitches, grasping at each other on the dirt floor of their tent. It was the first time he'd really laughed in weeks and it just felt so _good._

Alex made it back before Sean did, the other soldier evidently making himself scarce. When he walked in Tommy and Philippe were both lounging on their own beds, innocent as could be.

“You two are fucking disgusting.” Alex told them, climbing up to lay on his own bunk. 

“We'd better go shower then.” Tommy said, purposefully misunderstanding and flashing a cheeky grin at his friend. He slipped out of his bunk just in time to miss the boot that was tossed at him.


End file.
